


white heather (something burns)

by orphan_account



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Gen, Memory Loss, Open to Interpretation, Short One Shot, Yassen Gregorovich is an interesting person to write, unrealism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29673495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There are levels to loss, and even more to regaining.-AR Febuwhump 24: Memory Loss
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13
Collections: AR Febuwhump 2021





	white heather (something burns)

**Mourn**

* * *

The child crouched behind the heather bush, the white tufts of the flowers snagging in its matted hair. Its cheeks were lined with streaks of mud, and it whimpered softly, clenching its small fists in its frock. 

A gunshot rang out somewhere to its left, and it squeezed her eyes shut. Birds called in alarm as they rose in flocks, a blanket of unrest, from their perches and nests. 

Footsteps rustled in the tall grass of the forest. It was strangely calming, the shushing sound it made soothing the child's mind. The huffing of a large dog broke the momentary spell.

"What is it, boy?"

The dog grumbled, sticking his nose straight through the heather and into the child's face. It yelped in shock and stared at the boots in front of it.

"God, It's just a child," the hunter whispered in surprise. He crouched down and parted the leaves gently. "Hello little one," he said. "Where is your mama?"

The child blinked at him. It's matted curls were soaked with mud, and it trembled all over. 

"You must be freezing." The hunter glanced back over his shoulder, as if to look for someone to help him. "Did you lose your mama?" he repeated, sounding lost. 

The little child shook it's head. 

"Are- did you run away from home?" the hunter asked, laying a hand on his dogs head.

The dog sat down heavily on it's rump and the child's mouth twitched. 

"You don't need to be scared, I'm sure your mama is around somewhere, I-" the hunter trailed off helplessly. Silence lapsed between the three of them, and the birds, which had settled down once more, twittered cheerfully.

"Here," the hunter said finally, shrugging out of his fur jacket. "This will make you warm." He held out the jacket to the child, and it eyed it carefully. "Come out from there, you'll catch cold."

The child blinked at him, and he was struck by the jaded look in its eyes. "You have a gun." It was the first it had said, and it's voice was painfully raspy.

"It's a hunting rifle," he reassured it, pulling his strap round so that it hung to his side. "Look, it's alright." 

"Guns hurt."

The hunter stilled. 

"Guns hurt," the the child repeated softly, holding a hand to its chest. 

Something in it's voice made chills run up the hunter's neck. It sounded old and haunted, as if all of time's sands had bathed it in the pools of age, and the hunter raised both hands carefully, dropping the coat on the soil between them. "Look, there's no more guns, alright?" He held out his arms, and evidently that one statement was enough for it to wriggle out from beneath the bush. 

It couldn't have been more than three years old, and the hunter could now see that it was soaked through with mud. "Come here," he told it, picking up the jacket and carefully draping it around the child's shoulders. It looked more like a large dress than a coat, and it covered the child completely.

"Let's find your mama," the hunter said, picking the child up and holding it close to his chest, hoping to give it some warmth. He straightened and the white heather that had stuck to his knees drifted to the ground; a gentle snowfall.

"Come on, boy," he told his dog, making his way down the path he came from. Somehow, something in his heart told him he was not going to find the child's mama.

Behind him, the first licks of flame had sparked up from where the white heather bush lay, slowly but surely swallowing it into their heated jaws.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed my strange take on today's prompt!


End file.
